Scar Tissue
by TeamFreeQuill
Summary: Greed. Gluttony. Pride. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Her. She was different, they knew, how could they not? But she was good. Really good. Every book, every monster, every demon, every angel said she was a bad idea. The Winchesters didn't know what they were getting into. It started normally. Well, for them at least. It started on a hunt.
1. Chapter 1

"RUN!" Dean yells, aiming a salt-loaded gun at the air around him. "Find the damn link and burn it!"

Sam runs faster, breaking through the front door of the house and running down the rough gravel road. _"Melanie Ross was Christian"_ Sam thinks. _"From a very religious family, murdered violently and we've already burned the bones. What would the link be?_"

An image of Melanie's old crucifix pendant at the Ross's house flashes through his mind. Got it. Sam turns around to the parent's house up the road and is immediately knocked over. Hard.

Lying on the ground, Sam hears soft grunting and the displacement of gravel in front of him. He starts to sit up and winces at the already-forming bruises he feels on his chest and back. Looking in front of him, expecting something along the lines of a grizzly bear form the force of impact, but he instead finds a girl. She's bent over and holding her stomach tightly. She looks up and notices him as well.

"Hunter?" She asks, breathing heavily. Sam gapes. How the hell-

"Yeah.." he states cautiously. "You?" He already knows the answer.

"Yeah." The girl looks at the house and seems to read his thoughts. "Melanie Ross?"

"Yep. What's trailing you?" He glances behind her.

The mysterious girl looks over her shoulder to what's behind her. "Uh... pixies. Nasty pixies."

Sam stands, "Well, I gotta go burn a necklace."

"I'm coming, if that's okay."

Sam answers before he realizes what he's actually doing. "Sure, that's fine."

"Which way?" She asks.

Sam thinks. They can't go back because an unsettled spirit is slitting throats, particularly his brothers, and they can't go forward because of apparently particularly nasty pixies. He looks right, seeing a forest. "Through the woods?"

She shrugs. "Why not? Let's go to Grandma's."

They both take off at the same time, dashing into the brush and ducking under countless branches, Sam's clothes catching on numerous thorn bushes. The girl runs ahead of Sam, not getting into nearly as much clothing trouble as he is. Her body fluidly makes its way through the forest and doesn't make a sound. As they run Sam hears the girl chanting something under her breath.

"What are you doing?" Sam pants. The last thing he needs is a witch.

She looks back at him. "Oh, you know, just...praying."

They reach the Ross's house all the lights off. Sam reaches into his pocket and curses. He forgot his lock picks!

The girl simply kicks the door in with the heel of her heavy duty boots and it hits the inside wall with a loud bang.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Sam hisses.

The girl shrugs. "Nobody's home and I forgot my picks too."

Sam rolls his eyes and runs into the house. He picks up a metal trashcan from the corner of the room and enters Mr. Ross's study. In the glass case behind the desk lies the necklace. Sam grabs the salt, box of matches, and gasoline from the duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

The girl knocks over a vase and smashes the glass around the necklace.

"What the hell are you doing now?!" Sam whispers loudly.

"The lock's already broken," She knocks over a lamp and pokes her thumb towards the door. "Might as well make it look like a robbery."

He rolls his eyes. "Just grab the necklace and throw it in the can.

The girl looks at the crucifix and grimaces before reaching out for it. Moonlight shines through the window above the case and illuminates her pale hand, revealing a dark colored liquid coating her palms.

"Woah," Sam stops her. "You alright?" He follows the length of her arm to her shoulder and scans down her body. He notices her left hand covering her stomach and he moves it away. Underneath her white shirt is slicked with dark red blood, her hands covered in it, too. "Holy shit."

"I'm fine," She reassures. When Sam gives a doubtful look, she smiles a little bit. "It's not my blood. Really."

"It's not?" Sam asks, unsure.

"Seriously. See?" She lifts up the shirt and shows her bare stomach, the finely chiseled muscles absent of any bleeding wounds.

The girl lets her shirt drop and motions towards the crucifix. "Now, don't we have a pendant to burn?"

Sam nods and takes the crucifix from the stand and throws it into the metal bucket, dousing it in gasoline and tossing a lit match in. It bursts into flames and Sam sighs in relief. Dean's okay now.

Dean!

"Oh my god," Sam mutters, racing out the door.

"Where are you going?" The girl asks, catching up with him quickly and running along beside him.

"I gotta make sure Dean's okay!" He shouts back. They pick up the pace and arrive back at Melanie's house, Sam taking the stairs two at a time.

"Dean?" He sees the spot he left Dean in is empty. "Dean!? Where are you?" He runs into the kitchen.

"His name is Dean, yeah?" The girl asks. Sam nods and she begins to search for him as well.

"Dean!" She yells. Her voice comes out strong and commanding, seeming to echo into every corner of the house.

Sam screams once more. "DEAN!"

"Calm down, Sammy. I'm here, I'm fine," Dean's gruff voice answers from the hallway. "You've only been gone fifteen minutes. I can handle a ghost for longer than that."

Fifteen minutes? It felt like it was much shorter than that. Then again, it must have been at least five minutes to get to the Ross's house, let alone breaking in, burning the pendant, and running back.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sam is snapped out of his thoughts and pushed violently behind his brother, Dean now pointing his gun directly at the mystery girl.

"Woah there, buster, let's not get trigger happy." Despite her laugh, her eyes lack the humor her voice conveys.

"Who are you?" Dan demands again, stepping forward and pressing the gun to the girl's neck.

Her voice changes dramatically, going from joking to bone-chillingly cold in seconds. "Maybe I'd tell you if you turned on a damn light, offered me a chair, and pointed that thing somewhere else."


	2. Chapter 2

"Why should I listen to you?" Dean snarls, poking the gun further into her neck.

"Because if you don't you'll just remain a scared little boy threatening a hunter with a gun that's out of rounds. And I'll be damned if I'm just going to stand here and let you reload with those extra bullets in your pocket or pull that damned trigger afterwards. So," She stares directly into his gaze, "It's my way, or stalemate."

Consideration flashes in Dean's weary eyes. "And what's your way?"

"I told you. Get this gun out of my face, turn on a light, and shutup."

When Dean doesn't lower the gun Sam puts his hand on it, slowly pushing it down to Dean's side. "Fine," Dean mutters, flipping on a light switch. "I'm waiting." He taunts, leaning against the wall.

With a nasty glare, she explains. "I'm a hunter, like you two. My name is Eliotte. Eliotte Grey." She mockingly takes a deep bow, maintaining icy eye contact with Dean, and sits against the tabletop.

"That's it? That's all we get?" Dean asks, annoyed. It's too late and he's too tired to deal with some little sarcastic shit.

"You want a tragic backstory or some shit?" She sneers, "It's all you'll need and it's all you'll get until I trust you." Eliotte leans back, supporting her slanted weight on her hands. "Your turn."

"My name is Dean Winchester. He's my brother Sam."

"That's all I get?" She mockingly pouts at him.

"That's all you need and all you'll get until I trust you." He sasses back.

A wolfish grin spreads across Eliotte's face. "Touche." She pushes herself up off the table. "So you're the famous Winchesters, huh? I've heard a lot about you two." She walks towards them. "No one told me about the jawlines though. And look at you!" She stops in front of Sam and smiles the few inches up at him, "Your hair's almost longer than mine!"

That statement is too much an exaggeration for Sam not to constitute it as a lie. Yes, Sam has pretty long hair (so what, he likes it that way), and almost _everyone_ has to make a comment about it, but his hair can't even _compare _ to hers. Her pitch-black hair is pulled out of her face and yet still reaches nearly to the small of her back. And with her hair pulled up and the lights on, Sam can finally see what she truly looks like. And he's stunned.

She's skinny, too skinny, and yet tough muscle seems to ripple under the smooth flesh stretched over it. Her deathly pale skin is covered all in black with her bloodstained white shirt and a compact black backpack hanging off her shoulders. Her flawless skin is only broken by white scars, both erratic and orderly, littering her arms, neck, hands, and undoubtedly her legs as well. She's obviously been through hell, much like Sam and his brother. But her eyes. Eliotte's eyes are the most capturing thing about her.

Their sky-blue color light the room more than the florescent lamps do. In her intense, almost uncomfortable gaze, Sam can see everything in them, like they're an open window. They give him a peek at all the secrets she knows, all of the emotions she's holding back. Her tightly set jaw may convey seriousness but her eyes dance with amusement. She can't control them, no matter how hard she's trying, like they have a mind of their own.

Eliotte's whole presence- her militant posture, high cheekbones, defined jawline, protruding muscles and eyes that seem to burn through you- make her seem to be composed only of angles and lines yet her looks are fluidly perfect at the same time.

Sam thinks all of this in a matter of milliseconds, feeling a new sensation as he does. It's a strange feeling of a literal magnetic sort of attraction, an unusual fidgety feeling that spreads throughout his whole body and locks his chest in a dead-weight ache. He wants to reach out and touch her and yet take ten steps away. He doesn't know what to make of it. Nothing has filled him with this much dread in years. He feels almost... _nervous._ Sam brushes it off as the feeling fades away slowly. It was probably just a new "She's hot" reaction. It's not every day you meet a girl who looks like this.

"C'mon Sam, time to go." Dean says after he snaps out of his own thoughts. This chick is weird. Hot, admittedly kind of funny and she's got balls, but weird. She's come out of nowhere. He's never seen anyone like her, never heard of her, and doesn't know anything of what she's capable of. He'll have to call Bobby later.

"Well, fancy meetin' you two." Eliotte fake salutes and turns to walk out.

"Wait." Dean interjects. She turns back to look at him. "We have to run some tests on you first."

Eliotte groans. "Seriously? Come on!"

Dean shrugs. "Can't let a possible monster go loose can we?"

Eliotte rolls her eyes. "Fine, I'll prove it to you now." She pulls up the bottom of her shirt and shifts the hem of her pants to show off a devil's trap tattoo above her protruding hipbone. "So not a demon." She pulls out a silver knife from a holster she has hidden around her right ankle and slices it across her forearm, not burns forming and a sliver of red blood forming and oozing from the cut. "Not a were wolf. Or a shifter. Or fifty other monsters."

She runs through the rest of the tests Sam and Dean would've run like it a daily routine, cutting her skin with a bronze blade, silver-tipped gold blade, and even an iron one.

"Holy shit, you've had those all this time?" Dean asks incredulously. Where the fuck do you even get half of those? He looks at Sam. "She could've killed you like six times."

"Yeah, but I didn't. And I'm obviously not a monster so can I go now?" She asks, holding a hand over the now open wounds on her arm.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Sam blurts out. Dean looks at him, shocked, and tries to warn him off with a glare.

"I'm not." Eliotte shrugs.

Dean furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not staying anywhere. I'm not staying anywhere. I'm gonna find my bike where I hid it in the woods and ditch town."

"It's like one in the morning."

"Yeah. So?"

"_So, _come stay with us in our motel room." Wow, he thinks, that sounded much more platonic in his head.

Eliotte picks up on it. "Don't you know you're supposed to buy me dinner first?" She muses, smirking at him and crossing her arms. "No, Sam, I don't think so."

A shiver, from pleasure or revulsion he doesn't know, runs down his spine at her saying his name. He shakes it off. "Oh come on, a hunter's favor. Besides you should probably get a new shirt and get those cuts bandaged up."

Eliotte debates with herself internally. Fuck, she doesn't feel like driving for hours again. And it's supposed to rain tonight and it fucking sucks to ride a motorcycle in the rain. But these guys don't trust her. She knows it. They should calm the fuck down, if she wanted to kill them she would've done it already. There have been _so _many more times to kill them than the six Dean mentioned to Sam. "Fine. But only because it's supposed to rain."

Sam smiles and motions towards the door. "You first."

She goes and Sam starts behind her until Dean grabs his arm and pulls him back. "What the _hell _was that?!"

"What? She needed a place to stay."

"Since when do we trust other hunters, Sam?"

"Oh come on, Eliotte's like a twig. She's not much of a threat."

"Not a threat my ass." Dean snaps. He's not going to underestimate any unknown hunter, especially this one. She's got something in the eyes. Their extremely light blue color pierce into Dean when she looks at him, like they're looking _through_ him, reading his mind and watching his every move. They survey the room carefully and seem to memorize it down to the last detail, even the lightest path of dust or cobwebs in a corner. There's an uneasy coldness in how mathematical they seem, and yet in her eyes he can see blazing hellfire, in them he can hear the screams of agony and remember the torture he withstood in his decades with Alistair. Fire so full of rage and pain that in a small part of his mind he's afraid to get too close for fear of being scorched.

He doesn't like this uneasiness, but he guesses that keeping her close and watching her can't hurt as long as he keeps his guard up. Sam's obviously already trusting her. He loves the boy but damn, does he trust easy. Or maybe just knows where to look, 'cause he did stare at her for like an hour. "You want in her pants don't you?"

"What? No! Hell no!" Sam defends.

"Yeah, alright. I saw the way you looked at her, Sammy." He claps his little brother on the shoulder. "She's hot, man but she seems pretty tough. Hard to get." Dean chuckles and heads out the door.

"Dean, no, I-" Sam splutters, running through the door after him.

"Everything alright, boys?" Eliotte asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam's semi-panicked expression.

"Oh, yeah, of course! Right Sammy?" Dean grins back at him.

"Uh, yeah. Totally." Sam coughs.

Eliotte shrugs. "Whatever." She pokes her thumb towards the impala. "This your junker?"


End file.
